


Great is the Weapon

by ProblemsAroses



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: As much as we hate it people are definitely gonna die, Basically every other character but those are the main ones, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Minor Character Death, Multi, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Original character Heiress, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Trauma, canon-typical eldritch abominations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 00:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11391792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblemsAroses/pseuds/ProblemsAroses
Summary: She thought she'd left it behind all those years ago. The Luxdeep name has long been tainted, almost forgotten by the noble, decent folk it was once part of. But Evelyn, Evie now, was sure she'd never get roped back into her family's problems...until the letter arrived out of nowhere, while she was as far away as she thought she could get.Now she's found herself back at the estate of her heritage, and with her has come a ragtag group of adventurers, warriors, criminals, and all sorts of people seeking wealth and fame on the Old Road.Faced with the almost impossible task of vanquishing the darkness lurking beneath the manor, Evie must undo the wrongs her grandfather has wrought upon the people of the Hamlet and her family. And along the way, she and her new companions may just find redemption.





	1. Prologue

The seal had long since been broken, and yet if she held the envelope shut just so, she could almost pretend that it was still closed. Would that she had never opened it. At least then she could feel almost comfortable with pretending she’d never received it.

  
The seal on the wax was an image Evie had never thought she’d see again. She remembered seeing it on a sigil ring owned by her grandfather, kept safely tucked in his desk drawer when he wasn’t wearing it proudly. She sighed, her breath puffing out in a small cloud of vapor that hung in the cold air. She could still remember the estate she’d grown up on, though she tried to forget.

  
_You remember our venerable house…_

  
Evie thought she’d left all this behind her. She’d wanted to leave it all behind her, somewhere far away in the dust where she could take up new names and pretend that this was not who she was anymore. She’d wanted nothing to do with the family name, let alone its estate, its legacy, its responsibilities. And yet here she was, intent on answering the letter. All because her grandfather had to dabble in powers best left alone.

  
_…We unearthed that damnable portal and antediluvian evil…_

  
What even awaited her, back at that estate? What work had the monsters wrought upon the manor, the Hamlet?

  
Why did she suddenly care so much, when before she’d never thought much about the estate at all?

  
Perhaps it was because the letter had managed to find her at all—not an easy feat considering the amount of time she’d lived out in the wilderness, passing through towns on occasion but always on the move, always running. If her family’s legacy could find her miles away in the middle of nowhere, it could find her anywhere. And it would never leave.

  
_I beg you, return home, claim your birthright…_

  
Evie adjusted her hood, sighing once more as she tucked the letter away in her pack. The time for wishing she’d hurled the thing into a fire was long passed. It was time to shoulder her family’s burden.

  
For better or worse, it was time she returned home.


	2. Once Familiar, Now Foreign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie has reached the Hamlet and finds it in a pretty sorry state. The only thing left to do now is to come up with a plan of action.  
> Right after a drink, of course.

One week later

                Evie wasn’t certain anything could have prepared her for the state the Hamlet was in. She’d gleaned enough from the letter to know it would be far from pretty, but the extent of her grandfather’s mistakes only further made itself known as she trudged into town after a long journey she’d had to make on foot.

                What struck her first, before the town was even properly in sight, was the smell. It was a miasma of decay and neglect, the scent of rotting floorboards and tepid puddles of mud, of mold and rust and moss and, faintly, manure. If despair had a scent, Evie imagined, it would be strikingly similar to the stench coming from the Hamlet. She passed from the edge of the woods into the clearing close to the crumbled statue standing in the town square, resting a hand on the statue’s base.

                “Well, this is a mess.” She said to herself, looking around. Half the buildings were closed, boarded up with crooked pieces of wood that were almost warped past the point of usefulness. Most of them didn’t even have lights in the windows, and those that did flickered faintly, as if they were all a breath away from being extinguished entirely.

                “Picked a pretty bad time to visit the Hamlet, traveler.” A rough voice rumbled behind her, and Evie whipped around in shock. Before her stood a fairly tall man with a mustache that might have been impressive, had it not drooped so sadly.

                “Was…has there ever been a _good_ time to visit? The place looks abandoned.” Not just abandoned, but _forsaken_ , forgotten, wiped from memory like the Luxdeep name had almost been not so long ago. Maybe the letter had come too late, and everyone had already packed and left. Evie couldn’t say she blamed them; after all, it hadn’t taken _her_ too long to leave, either.

                The man laughed sadly, shaking his head.

                “If we were able to leave, I can guarantee you most of us would have done so already. But the roads are dangerous, and they all seem to end up back here.” He shrugged at the end, as if it were a simple fact that couldn’t be helped, but Evie felt her entire body tense.

                “You mean…you’re all trapped here?” She hated how her voice shook almost as much as she hated the prospect of that she may now share the townspeople’s fates.

                “Afraid so. The old Luxdeep coot really did a number on the place. At least the monsters don’t stray too far from the manor. For now, at least.” He fixed Evie with a questioning look that almost had her squirming like a guilty child, eyes glinting with the faintest hint of suspicion.

                “What brings you here, anyway?” Evie squared her shoulders in anticipation; no use beating around the bush.

                “The old Luxdeep coot was my grandfather. I’m Evie, and I came out here to clean up my family’s mess.”

                Judging from the way the taller man’s eyebrows seemed to shoot straight for the remnants of his hairline, that hadn’t been the answer he’d been expecting.

                “Well I’ll be damned, it’s another one.”

~~~~~~

 

                The man introduced himself as Fitz, and led Evie to the tavern, where he poured her a drink before leaning against the bar with his eyes focused on the young heiress.

                “So. You’re the Luxdeep that ran off years ago. Only sensible one, if you ask me,” he began, and Evie nodded after a moment. Fitz relaxed after a quiet beat, nodding himself.

                “Barely recognized ya. You’ve grown.” His tone was a little softer than before. “Where’ve you been?”

                “Where _haven’t_ I been?” Evie laughed, gaze darting to her fuzzy reflection in whatever drink the bartender had poured for her. He hadn’t said, and she hadn’t asked. “All over. A couple small towns, but mostly I’ve been out in the wilds.”

                “An heiress turned survivalist,” Fitz huffed, laughing. “And now that you’re back here?”

                “I guess I’ll start with the estate,” Evie shrugged, taking a sip of the drink and almost wincing at how bitter the stuff was. Fitz grunted, shaking his head hard enough to make his moustache wave back and forth.

                “There’s no way you’re gonna make that. Not on your own.” Evie’s head found itself in her hands as she sighed, letting her elbows rest on the bar in a way that her relatives years ago would have condemned as “unladylike”.

                “And let me guess: if the people in the Hamlet could do it…”

                “We would’ve done it by now.” Fitz finished, wiping down the dusty bar with an equally-grimy rag.

                “So what do you propose I do, leave? I thought people here couldn’t do that.” Fitz held up a finger and waved it slightly, a gesture for Evie to wait and hold off on any more barbed comments.

                “The Caretaker can. Crazy old codger won’t take any of us with him, but he can come and go as he pleases. He serves your family, tell him who you are. Have him take you to recruit some help, and I’ll see what I can do here in the meantime.”

                “What _can_ you do?” Evie asked, more curious than biting.

                “I’ll see about pulling together the others. The blacksmith, the training guild, the Abbot, everyone. Even the warty mistress at the Sanitarium, if anyone has the guts to knock on that door. They might not be too keen on another Luxdeep having the run of the place and risking fouling everything up even more, but if you’re here to help and there’s a chance this nightmare might end…well, I’m sure they’ll be willing to help you and anyone else you bring back here.” Evie mulled it over, chewing her lip as she did so. She remembered the Caretaker, but only vaguely. He’d unnerved her as a child, and judging from the state of the Hamlet and everyone else in it, she wasn’t expecting that to change.

                Finally, she seemed to come to a decision. She gulped down the rest of the drink, more out not wanting to waste it than a desire for alcohol, and nodded firmly.

                “Alright, Fitz, you’ve got a deal. I’ll head out, try to find some people to help me take back the estate. You try to figure out if there’s some scraps of life left in this town, and I’ll do my best to haul it back to its feet.” The bartender snorted, holding out a hand for her to shake.

                “There’s gotta be some group of bastards, somewhere, who are at least as crazy as you.”

                Evie grinned despite herself, shaking his hand.

                “We’ll see.”


	3. The Old Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That feeling when you regret your own character's nickname because you keep picturing Evie Frye from Assassin's Creed -_-
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by the Caretaker's reckless driving and twitchy hands, not necessarily in that order

                The Caretaker was even more eccentric now than Evie remembered, all nervous tics and mindless giggles and mutterings. His duties in the Hamlet had clearly left him worse for wear. Evie honestly considered leaving the poor wretch out of her plans, but his carriage was the fastest—and perhaps the only—way she could hope to get out of the Hamlet.

                The nervous tittering she could handle. She could tolerate the occasional, unprompted burst of maddening laughter. But it was how he addressed her that truly set her teeth on edge, funnily enough.

                “Milady Luxdeep! Young Evelyn, home at last!” He’d crowed, mere moments after she’d opened her mouth to give her introductions. And then he was kneeling in front of her, grasping at her hand and leaving almost desperate kisses on the air just above her skin, and she’d had to use more force than she’d originally thought to reclaim the limb.

                “Caretaker, Caretaker, please…” she half-groaned.

                It took about five minutes of back-and-forth before she came to the conclusion that the man would not call her Evie. Reluctantly, she decided she would tolerate the antiquated titles that truly meant little for her, and even less, she suspected, for everyone else.

                Once she managed to see the Caretaker through the initial, hysterical onslaught, Evie was pleasantly surprised to see that his behavior was at least manageable. As long as she looked past the trembling, ever-moving fingers, or the constant wringing of his hands, or the way his lips seemed permanently raised in a madman’s grin with rotting teeth…

                …oh, who was she kidding? The man was like the Hamlet personified. But perhaps, like the Hamlet, he wasn’t completely beyond her meager means of aid, or whatever scrap of hope that could still be scrounged up from the mud.

                “Caretaker,” Evie began, jolting in surprise when the man’s eyes suddenly fixated on her with surprising intensity.

                “Miss Evelyn! Lady Luxdeep, my—“

                “ _Caretaker._ ” Came the reply, hissed through gritted teeth and accompanied by a particularly exasperated pinch to the bridge of her nose. Evie took in a deep breath, mentally counting to ten before speaking again.

                “Caretaker, I need to find some adventurers who are crazy enough to help me cleanse the estate. Would you—“

                “Fools and corpses! More madmen for the darkness!” The old man screeched, seeming to forget himself for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calmer, and the change may have been eerie had it not been for the tremor that remained in his tone.

                “I will prepare the carriage, my lady. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

                As much as Evie wanted to stay and rest for a while, taking the time to collect her thoughts and her composure, she found herself refusing. She couldn’t imagine sleeping in such a place, not yet. She could keep going if it meant getting away from the Hamlet’s sorry state for a while.

                “I’m ready as soon as you are, Caretaker.” She replied, almost primly. The carriage seats would be comfortable enough for her to get a quick nap in, anyway, she reasoned.

~~~~~~~

                The carriage seats were not nearly as comfortable as childhood memories let her believe, and whatever comfort they still provided was quickly eradicated by the Caretaker’s reckless driving through the forest. If she didn’t know better, Evie might have been tempted to say the man was trying to kill the both of them. She reached out as the carriage hurtled around a corner, arms slamming into the door with almost enough force to throw the damned thing open.

                Briefly, she wondered if she should ask the Caretaker if he wished to turn around; surely there was one bump in the road, somewhere, that he’d somehow missed. Instead, she emboldened herself enough to lean her head out the window in one of the carriage doors. Raising her voice over the thundering of horse hooves and squeaking axles, she called out to the Caretaker.

                “How long to the nearest town?”

                “A number of hours, we must hurry before the darkness closes in!” he replied in his almost hysterical way. He seemed almost different now that they were further from the Hamlet. He wasn’t quite as twitchy as before, but still had that unsettling air about him that indicated that something was _off_ , somehow.

                “I have made the journey before, your family is known here! It has been far too long since I’ve brought back more fools for the fire!”

                Evie’s inevitable response had to wait. The carriage careened around another sharp corner, sending it tilting dangerously sideways before it slammed back into the ground and bounced. Evie’s hood slid off at last as she was thrown sideways, falling across the seat with a sharp cry. She threw her head back out the window once she felt relatively safe in doing so, continuing her question.

                “Have there been others?!”

                “Oh yes!” The Caretaker said, whipping the reigns with a “crack” as the carriage picked up speed. “All sorts of members of your great family, come to restore their venerable estate! I took them each down this very lane, as I do for you now!”

                “And what happened?” Evie asked, feeling that she already knew the answer. The Caretaker let out an almost-thoughtful hum, as if considering how to tell his tale. Gradually, the horses slowed, just enough where he could speak at a natural volume and still be heard.

                “Word spread quickly around your family. Some members took it upon themselves to cleanse and take back their glorious estate,” he began. “They came in all sorts: man, woman, soft, hardened. Some fighters. Mostly spoiled dictators. All in search of soldiers to fight the battles they could not. Or would not.” He shook his head with a click of his tongue, giggling slightly. “Fools and corpses, all.”

                “They were killed, then?”

                “Some. Most. This little Luxdeep went into the darkness and came out…wrong. Twisted and broken and beyond use. Another ventured into the darkness and never came back out. One was poisoned by paranoia while locked in her quarters; she starved herself rather than risk being poisoned by a lackey. And she called _me_ mad!” He hooted in laughter even as Evie’s blood ran cold.

                “The next, her twin, was twisted too. But in a different way, cruel and crass. That one should have feared poison but refused to; he died three days later. The last ones to come packed and left. The Hamlet has no place for the weak, and the darkness will always take what it can.”

                “You’re warning me, then?”

                “Young mistress, if your grandfather thought you weak he would not have chosen you to receive the letter!”

                “He only sent one?” She exclaimed, but the Caretaker seemed too caught up in a newfound fit of cackling to pay her any mind. Evie ducked back into the carriage as it lurched forward and began speeding down the road again, and she threw the window shut with a squeal of metal on metal. White knuckles braced against the edge of the seat, her mind whirling almost as fast as the carriage’s wheels.

                How many members of her family had fallen to the dangers around and under the old manor? And would Evie join them? Just the latest of the fallen Luxdeeps, lost in a quest for wealth and fame and newfound honor? Just another tale to be told on the lips of a withered old Caretaker?

                Was this old shell of an estate worth dying for?

                The time to regret and curse the letter was long since passed, but Evie found herself doing just that as they hurtled into the night, a madman’s laughter echoing among the forest’s trees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooo boy, we're getting somewhere now!  
> We're actually gonna meet Reynauld and Dismas next chapter, and hopefully I'll have an actual description of Evie that isn't out of place. Thanks for reading!


	4. There can be no bravery without madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie's arrived in town searching for a group of adventurers to help her cleanse her estate. She'll probably have to settle for only two, instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between general inspiration issues and at least five (5) other things that decided to go on in my life at the same time, this chapter almost didn't want to be written. And then it didn't want to stop.  
> But here we are!

                The clattering of dice and the cheers of patrons rang merrily throughout the tavern, and Dismas knew better than to assume he would be welcome at the table. In fact, he could assume the opposite. Perhaps it was a gut feeling, some sort of premonition or sixth sense honed to a fine edge after years on the road and on the run.

                It could also be the big, burly man glaring him down from the gambling table, but Dismas preferred to keep his options open.

                The tavern’s meager security was tighter than it probably was normally. The highwayman snickered to himself, guessing that his reputation must have preceded him. Just as well; he preferred a bottle in his grasp than a hand of cards. And even if he didn’t, there was no getting past the bouncer who seemed hell-bent on pinning Dismas to the seat with nothing more than a warning glare. He shot the bouncer a grin that was almost cheeky, raising his glass in a sort of mock salute before downing the rest. Dismas wasn’t sure how the bouncer’s frown could possibly get any deeper, but by some miraculous feat or another, it did. One of the ham hocks the bouncer must be passing off as his hands hovered slightly above the blackjack at his belt, and Dismas made the prudent decision to bugger off on the pretense of getting another drink. A large portion of staying in one piece involves being sure not to pick any fights you can’t win.

                He was almost sorry to have to leave his seat. Aside from the charming view of a surly bouncer, it was a nice table, and for once he hadn’t had to jump through hoops to get a spot in the crowded tavern completely to himself.

                Dismas’ feet apparently knew what he wanted before he did, because the next thing he knew he really was in front of the bar again. Resigning himself to a barstool that hopefully wouldn’t collapse from underneath him, he ordered another drink. The booze here really wasn’t all that bad. If he played his metaphorical cards right, and steered clear of the men whose aim was to be sure he never had any _actual_ cards to play, Dismas figured he could afford to stick around here for a few days more.

                He turned in his stool to survey the tavern, and that was about when opportunity breezed right into the room.

~~~~~~~

                Evie wasn’t sure when she’d dozed off. She wasn’t even sure if she had at all, or if she’d been so lost in thought she hadn’t noticed the carriage slowing down. Either way, she was pulled from her thoughts as she felt it lurch to a halt, and heard the Caretaker clambering down from his perch a few moments later. Evie stretched out her legs in front of her, trying to work out the cramps that had ended up forming as a result of having to sit in relatively the same position for too long. _Well, it’s time to go._

                The door swung open when her fingertips had barely brushed against the handle, and she couldn’t quite hold back a startled oath. The Caretaker said nothing, simply grinning in that almost-mad way she’d come to expect, and with a jolt Evie realized he was holding the door for her.

                “Thank you,” she mumbled, stepping down from the vehicle and onto solid ground. She’d be lying if she said _that_ wasn’t a relief.

                “My pleasure, my lady!” The old man said, accenting this with a short bow. “The tavern is just ahead, but I, oh, would rather not linger. The Estate calls me back even now.” Evie let out a quiet hum, nodding as she turned toward the tavern.

                “Looks like you’re tied to the place too, huh?”

                “It pains me to stay, my lady, pains me like a fire poker to my heart and my sanity. But to leave?” He shook his head as if to clear it of whatever madness skulked in the depths of his mind. “Why, that’s simply _maddening_!”

~~~~~~~

                Granted, there was nothing about the woman that suggested opportunity for anything, at least in those initial moments when she set foot in the doorway. She had a hood covering most of her face, and rather than being part of a travelling cloak, the hood was stitched to a dark, worn jacket. Her boots easily rose to her knees and almost seemed to have ambitions of continuing onward, and they were scuffed and worn with clear signs of use. She was dressed like any other traveler that came through this bustling little town; Dismas had seen hundreds on the road that seemed just like her.

                What Dismas hadn’t prepared for was how _quiet_ her entrance really was. Patrons of all shapes and sizes would reliably produce at least a few dull, thudding footsteps to announce their presence, but if she had any footsteps to speak of, Dismas couldn’t pick them out. Floorboards that creaked under the foot of anyone else in this building barely let out a low groan as she passed over them. She was clearly light on her feet, and Dismas had no trouble believing she could move just fine in that jacket, despite the fact that it clung to her a little tighter than his own overcoat did. And if she was a hunter, or one of those people who chose to try their luck surviving out in the woods, he wondered what the hell she was doing _here_ , of all places.

                Dismas pushed his thoughts about the woman out of his mind, turning back to his drink. Whatever she was here for, he doubted it need concern him, or anyone else in this tavern.

                That is, until a few movements out of the corner of his eyes caught his attention. He started slightly as the newcomer sat down in the empty barstool next to his, which he may have been annoyed by if it weren’t for the fact that it was one of the few seats left at all. She offered a small nod in place of a verbal greeting, which Dismas returned—he wasn’t a _complete_ ass—before doing his best to pretend he couldn’t hear her talking to the bartender.

                “Pretend” being the operative word.

                “All the booze in this place and you choose wine?” he asked. The hooded woman turned to look at him, shifting slightly in what might have been surprise. And then she was almost looking _through_ him with eyes that might’ve been brown. It was difficult to tell, with the hood and Dismas’ sudden, inexplicable reluctance to maintain eye contact.

                “What do you recommend instead?” She asked quietly, a grin tugging at her lips. Well, at least she was amused and not pissed off at him for criticizing her tastes in alcohol. He’d been shot at for far less.

                “The brandy’s not half bad,” Dismas replied, gesturing to his own glass. “The ale’s alright, too, but stay away from the beer. Tastes like seawater and dead grass.” The woman pulled a face at the last part.

                “I know the stuff. Apparently it’s a favorite with sailors, the ones from way up north.”

                “This look like a port city to you?” he snarked, not sure if it was the drink or the topic or the sudden, foreign feeling of temporary camaraderie that was making his tongue loosen up like this. He blamed it on the atmosphere; there was just something about taverns that brought strangers together, at least for a time.

                The woman laughed a bit, shaking her head.

                “It _is_ a little far from its target audience, isn’t it?”

                Dismas left the question unanswered, guessing it was more rhetorical than anything else, and they lapsed into a silence that wasn’t quite awkward as they turned to their respective drinks.

                “Have you ever tried mercenary work?” The woman asked suddenly, and it took Dismas a few half-seconds longer than it should have for him to realize she was talking to him.

                “What sort of work are we talking?” he asked, suspicion crawling at the back of his mind. Good conversations rarely went in this direction.

                “I’ve…recently inherited some property that’s seen better days. _Much_ better days. It’s…well, I guess the closest thing I can say is that it’s infested. I’m here hoping to hire some extra weapons to help me with cleansing the place. I’ll pay you, of course, but I can’t promise any money up front. For obvious reasons, I didn’t carry any with me.”

                “Dangerous work.” Dismas said. It wasn’t phrased as a question, and even if it had been, it wasn’t much of one.

                “Yes. From what I’ve gathered, yes. But I’m…it’s my responsibility now.” She finished her wine, setting the glass back on the bar with a quiet “thunk”.

                “No hard feelings if you don’t want to. But there’s as much treasure as there is danger down there, and you’d be entitled to a share. It’s dangerous, I won’t lie. But if it were easy, anyone would have done it.”

                Dismas said nothing, and the woman was almost interrupting herself with how quickly she continued speaking. He wasn’t sure if she was taking his silence as a firm “fuck no” or simply as a sign he was listening. He wasn’t sure if she knew, either.

                “I’ll be at the inn for a night or so if you’re interested. I’d definitely fill you in more before we set out but…offer’s on the table.”

                Before she left, she ordered a small bottle of brandy for the night.

~~~~~~~

                He wasn’t going to do it. There was no way he was going to do it. The girl was nice and all, but vague traipses into unknown danger were fairly high up on the list of things Dismas sought to avoid.

                So why the hell was he walking to the inn?

                He didn’t even have a bottle of booze to blame this questionable decision on, since he’d waited and mulled it over well into the next day. He was probably too sober to be making this sort of decision. But, he figured, he’d at least scope out the people this woman had managed to recruit. There were plenty of braggarts and mercenaries here willing to look death in the eye for no other reason than the bragging rights. And that treasure she’d mentioned was probably a large motivator, too; that was one of the things that had caught _his_ attention, at any rate.

                There was a stagecoach sitting out in front of the inn, the horses pawing at the ground idly. He was expecting…well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. But it wasn’t the lone figure that had joined the woman by the carriage, seemingly in deep conversation with her. She’d presumably been trying to recruit people since she’d come into town, and this was all she could scrounge up? Just one singular…

                … _Crusader?_

                Dismas stopped in his tracks, something very much akin to shock settling in his stomach. Religious zealots were also fairly high up on the list of things he wasn’t willing to deal with. The crusader was almost certainly capable of fighting, so maybe this woman could do just fine without him, and Dismas could head back for the bar and pretend he’d never made this little stop.

                …And then the woman happened to turn her head a bit and her eyes fell on him, surprise etching across her face for a moment before she smiled slightly. She beckoned him over to her and her companion, and Dismas sighed to himself while trudging across the road.

                “Didn’t think I’d see you here,” she called once he was only a couple feet away. The crusader slowly turned to face him, and he had to fight the urge to squirm where he stood. Dismas was not a very physically imposing man—the strange woman was only a few inches shorter than he was—and the crusader towered over them both. Dismas didn’t like how he couldn’t see the man staring at him from behind that damn helmet.

                “Yeah, just…just wanted to see how many people you’ve managed to round up.” Dismas said. He forced himself to try and ignore the crusader’s stare, which settled on his shoulders almost like a physical weight. The woman sighed, throwing out her arms a bit before letting them fall to her sides.

                “Not many,” she admitted sadly. “Wasn’t expecting much better, but…well, I’m just glad Reynauld here happened to be walking past. He’s agreed to help me, at least.” The knight only briefly nodded his head, more in acknowledgement than anything else, and Dismas awkwardly mirrored the action.

                “Are you here to offer aid as well?” he asked. Dismas realized with a jolt that his voice actually sounded quite young. Younger than he’d expected, at least.

                He hadn’t intended on offering help. He hadn’t planned on stopping by the inn at all. And yet here he was, and Dismas wasn’t sure whether he was being nudged in this direction by idiocy or Lady Luck.

                “Yeah…yeah, I sure am,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. The payment would be worth it, at least. And even if he got himself killed…well, it was nothing he didn’t have coming, anyway. Might as well die for a reason.

                “Oh. Oh, that’s great!” The woman exclaimed, seeming surprised but not necessarily distressed. She held out a hand, almost too quickly, as if Dismas would take back his offer if she didn’t act fast.

                “My name’s Evie, by the way. Thanks for coming to help.”

                “Dismas, and…you’re welcome.” He replied, shaking her hand only for a moment or two. “So, where’s this dangerous job of yours?”

                “Hop in,” the woman—Evie—gestured towards the stagecoach. “It’ll be a pretty long ride, so plenty of time to explain. But first off, what do you two know about the Luxdeep estate?”

~~~~~~~

                Things hadn’t gone as well as Evie could have dared to hope, but the fact that she’d convinced anyone to help her at all was something to smile about. Reynauld had even approached _her_ , having overheard her trying to recruit another group of capable-looking fighters with no success. He’d assured her that as a warrior of the Light, it was his duty to rid the world of darkness and corruption wherever he could. Secretly, Evie wasn’t too sure about that part, but she was in no position to be turning down offered help.

As for Dismas, the man had stayed oddly…quiet when Reynauld had asked what kind of fighting experience _he_ had, but Evie hadn’t pushed it. The man had said something about having “been around” and as long as he was offering to help, she wasn’t about to let herself get hung up over that.

                After all, even if he was running from something, he wouldn’t be the only one.

                Without Evie’s explanations of the state of her family’s old seat and the circumstances in which she’d found herself back there, the stagecoach fell almost eerily silent. The horses’ hooves and carriage’s creaking axles could still be heard from outside, but they seemed muffled, almost suppressed, by the thundering silence that rang inside.

                “Your man out there drives like a maniac,” Dismas said at last in that low drawl of his, shortly after they’d careened around yet another sharp turn in the road. He wasn’t wrong; the Caretaker was somehow going even faster than he had been on their way _from_ the Hamlet. Evie huffed out a quiet laugh.

                “Being away from the Hamlet affects him, or so he’s said,” she explained. “And if it’s any consolation, he drove like this while leaving, too, so it’s not just you.” Dismas grunted, saying nothing. He sat across from Evie and had that whole seat to himself, and she was beginning to envy him for it. A few rough turns already had sent her bumping against Reynauld’s armor, and it was only slightly more comfortable than being slammed against the carriage walls.

                They lapsed into silence again. Evie eventually settled on gazing at the rosary Reynauld clutched in his hands, thumbing the beads as he prayed silently. The carriage shuddered again, but the passengers thought nothing of it until a moment later.

                A second, violent jolt shook the stagecoach, followed quickly by the crack of splintering wood. The carriage veered harshly to the side, thrown aside on two wheels as it continued speeding down the road. Somehow the thing was either maintaining speed or actually picking up even more of it.

                Evie thought she could hear the Caretaker howling with laughter over the screaming of the horses.

                The carriage continued to tilt, hovering on the brink for a moment that lasted a lifetime. Evie had never considered herself a religious person, but she found herself praying to whatever might be listening that it would safely fall back down onto its wheels. The moment dragged on, the carriage pushing the limits of gravity before it finally had no choice but to fall in one direction or another.

                They toppled over the side of the path, rolling once or twice and careening towards the trees. For a moment Evie was weightless, suspended in time, before she and her newfound companions all crashed and tumbled together down the hill. Her foot connected with something that might have been someone’s stomach, an elbow crashed against her lip. They were all a flurry of limbs and swears and shouts of surprise and fear and _pain_ , it hurt so badly and _why couldn’t it stop?_

                The noise, the crashing, the shouting stopped abruptly. The carriage slammed into a tree with enough force for it to shudder and almost bounce back just an inch or two. Aside from the squeaking of a still-spinning wheel and the whinnying of distant horses, all was silent on the Old Road.


	5. The Side Paths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the carriage destroyed and the Caretaker nowhere to be found, Evie and her newly formed party have to make the rest of the journey on foot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, everyone. College is rough lately.

                It was quiet for a moment, almost still. That was when they finally stirred, a sign that life hadn’t left them just yet. Evie groaned, shuffling up until she was propped up on her elbows. Reynauld had fallen across her back in the commotion and was currently pinning her down too much for her to move further.

                She was certain she’d have bruises.

                “My apologies,” he said, quickly moving so she could wriggle out from under him. “Are you injured?”

                “I’ll be fine,” Evie replied. She stretched experimentally, slowly moving only a few parts of her body at a time. She was sore, as to be expected, but thankfully nothing felt broken. “What about you? Dismas?”

                “I’m all right,” Reynauld said. Evie silently figured he would be; he had armor to take most of the impact for him.

                “I’ll be better once I’m out of here.” Dismas said, rising as much as he could in the small space. He reached above them and shoved the carriage’s door open with a loud squeak of the hinges, fumbling out of the space like a drowning man might flail for the water’s surface. The sound of boots scraping and thudding against the wood above their heads rang through the carriage for a moment, and then fell silent. Dismas’ hand thrust back down from the open door a moment or two later.

                “Grab on,” he said. For whatever reason, Reynauld hesitated—Evie thought it might be pride. But she reached up and let the other man grab her by the wrist, clutching at his arm as he hauled her up and out of the overturned carriage. She offered a small nod and a quiet “thanks” before turning back towards the door. Reynauld was still in the carriage, and with a huff Evie threw her hand down.

                “Come on, we need to get out of here,” she sighed; now wasn’t the time for anyone to be proud. Reynauld seemed like he was going to say something else before thinking better of it. He reached his hand up, and Evie held on with both of her own hands, struggling to pull him up.

                Dismas snorted, grabbing his other arm, and suddenly the crusader was rising so quickly out of the carriage that he almost knocked over his smaller companions.

                “Thank you,” Reynauld said, more to Evie than Dismas. They jumped down from the stagecoach with a series of thumps, grunts, and clanking armor, taking the moment to look around. The trees had appeared unsettling even from the relative safety of the carriage as it sped through the forest. But now that they were alone outside, all anyone seemed able to focus on for a moment was how twisted and menacing the place felt. It reeked of rotting leaves and fungus, and the shadows just beyond the stagecoach seemed to move and twist of their own will.

                The Caretaker and the horses were nowhere to be seen.

                “Well, this is bloody fantastic.” Dismas said at last.

                “We shouldn’t be too far from the Hamlet,” Evie said, glancing back up the hill at the trail of wreckage the carriage had left as it tumbled. “I’m willing to bet we were only an hour or so away.”

                “Back to the road, then,” Reynauld said. “If we hurry, we may make it before dark.”

                “I’m not sure the road’s the best idea,” Dismas drawled. Reynauld turned to face him.

                “Roads are meant for travelers,” he said slowly.

                “Travelers aren’t the only ones who know that,” Dismas argued. “Bandits do, too, and that crash is bound to attract some attention.”

                “Do you have a better idea?” Evie asked. “People get lost in these woods all the time; I’d rather not be one of them.”

                “There have to be some side paths through here, other routes we can take. With any luck, the brigands on the roads will be too focused on the main paths to be bothered.”

                “You seem to know an awful lot about how thugs operate,” Reynauld said. It could have been an innocent observation, if it weren’t for the obvious suspicion in his voice. Evie’s gaze quickly flickered between the two men, but she said nothing.

                “Common sense,” Dismas replied. “They know we’re here now; we try following that path and odds are we’ll walk straight into an ambush.”

                “You say common sense, but you speak as if it’s experience.” Reynauld took a step closer, hand drifting towards his sword. “And what kind of honest man goes around with his face covered?”

                “Reynauld!” Evie cut in. She quickly stepped in between the men, holding out her hands in a pacifying gesture. “It doesn’t matter. You wear a helmet, I wear a hood, Dismas has a scarf, we’re all hiding our faces for one reason or another and it’s nobody’s business. It doesn’t really matter to me how he knows what he knows. I hired him, same as I hired you. Let’s just get out of here before we really _are_ stuck in an ambush.”

                Reynauld said nothing, and neither did Dismas. In fact, both men seemed content with standing in the same place and staring each other down as the forest continued to grow darker around them. Finally, Dismas shrugged, stepping away.

                “I just figured I’d spare you the sight of my ugly face, that’s all.”

~~~~~~~

                They’d eventually settled on a side path, but Reynauld had insisted on taking the lead. He’d led countless armies and soldiers into battle, and for him their little group wasn’t all that different in the end.

                Of course, in the crusades he was blessed with knowing he could trust his companions and fellow soldiers. They were all warriors of the Light, after all, and as such they’re shared the same goal. Reynauld couldn’t be sure of that now. Evie’s goal, at least, seemed to be to purge her family’s estate, and yet she spoke of it as if it were a bothersome blemish she’d do well to remove. It was a noble enough pursuit, and yet she took the responsibility as a burden rather than a duty.

                As for Dismas…well, he was employed by Evie the same way he was, and he would of course respect the lady’s decisions. But there wasn’t much so far that encouraged Reynauld to trust him. He was bound by honor and divine purpose, and Evie had her obligations and duties, but what bound Dismas? The promise of reward? Of adventure? Whatever it was, Reynauld told himself to keep an eye on the other man. He doubted he’d be foolish enough to try anything, but vigilance never hurt.

                A snapping of twigs and a rustle of cloth shocked him out of his thoughts, and he whirled around with his hand on the pommel of his sword. His companions did the same with their own weapons. Dismas had produced a pistol from somewhere within the confines of his overcoat, a small dagger falling into his other hand from his sleeve. Evie drew a dagger of her own, although it was smaller and thinner at the end than the one Dismas had. They fell silent, drawing closer together without another word needed, watching for a sign of danger and being mindful of each other’s blind spots.

                A man stumbled out of the bushes, dressed in a tattered green hood and wielding two swords about the length of his forearm. He stopped in surprise, eyes widening.

                Something told Reynauld he was just as surprised to see them as they were to see him.

                “Hey! Over—!”he shouted, aiming to call for backup, but was quickly cut off by Evie’s knife jabbing into his stomach. The brigand let out a choked cry, shock spreading across his face as he stumbled backwards, taking the knife with him. He staggered, eyes narrowing in a sudden burst of hatred. With another cry, he lunged forward, blades slashing through the air straight towards Evie’s face.

                Reynauld acted quickly, reaching out and grabbing her arm. He tugged her backwards with enough force to almost knock her over, but there would be time enough for apologies later. In the time it took for Reynauld to pull Evie behind him and out of harm’s way, Dismas’ flintlock had been leveled straight at the brigand’s head with alarming speed. The gunpowder ignited with a crack and a flash that briefly lit up the clearing, and in a heartbeat the brigand’s head was reduced to a spray of blood, brains, and bone.

                He slumped to the ground with an unceremonious thud, weapons clattering down alongside him. Dismas said nothing in the brief time it took him to reload his gun, and Reynauld had to admit he must be a skilled shooter to move and reload with such speed.

                “That was a dumb move,” Dismas said at last. He knelt by the ruined corpse, grunting as he pulled Evie’s stiletto out of the man’s gut.

                “Excuse me?” Evie asked, stepping forward from behind Reynauld. Dismas shrugged, wiping the blood on the thug’s hood before standing again.

                “Don’t go for the gut, go for the neck or chest, somewhere vital. Kill them fast because they might still have one good swing left in them.” He gestured towards the dead man. “And next time, you might not be lucky enough to avoid it.”

                “She did well enough,” Reynauld said, although it was truthfully a halfhearted defense. Such riskiness would not have been tolerated in the crusades, it was a liability to oneself and the lives of everyone around him. But he wasn’t about to give Dismas the satisfaction of knowing he agreed with him, and he could not, in good conscience, let that jab towards Evie go unanswered. She sighed, taking back her dagger when Dismas held it out for her, hilt first.

                “No, he’s right, it was stupid. I usually avoid brigands on the road and I acted reflexively. But thank you, Reynauld,” her gaze remained focused on her dagger even when the weapon was stowed away, and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Just when Reynauld was contemplating asking if she was all right, Evie cleared her throat, finally looking back up at them.

                “We should keep moving. If nobody heard the yelling, they probably caught the gunshot.” She brushed past Reynauld, who was quick to turn around and overtake her.

                “Please, allow me,” he said, anxious to take charge and get their little party on the move again. And then, to appease her, he asked, “Which way is the Hamlet?”

                “Just ahead,” Evie said after a moment. She pointed further into the trees with two fingers. “If we keep heading in this direction we should make good time. I don’t want to think about how long we’ll be out here if we start trying to get too adventurous.”

                “Very well,” Reynauld nodded. “I’ll take the lead. Follow closely behind me. Dismas,” the man in question looked surprised to be referred to directly, but—thankfully—said nothing. “Take up the rear, make sure we aren’t being followed.”

                “Alright,” he replied. Reynauld turned and began heading down the path, trusting that Evie and Dismas would fall in line without argument. They’d already wasted enough time standing around.

                Once or twice, Reynauld found himself glancing over his shoulder. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Dismas was paying proper attention. Any threat that tried to approach from behind would have to get through Dismas first, so paying attention was as much self-preservation as it was teamwork. The problem was that Reynauld couldn’t pick out either of their footsteps over the noise his own armor made. It was foolish, but he feared he’d turn around and find himself stranded in the wilderness.

                “Relax, we aren’t going anywhere.” Dismas snapped. Somehow, the realization that he knew what Reynauld was checking for irked him more than the words themselves.

                “Of course not,” Reynauld said. “You need my sword arm, and the Light on your side.”

                “Sure. Something like that.” Reynauld bit back the retort rising up in his throat; to deny the Light was to allow darkness and sin into your heart, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t take it personally as well.

                They lapsed into another bout of silence, and this time nobody seemed interested in breaking it. The sun was going down, faster than Reynauld thought it would. If they were still in the woods when night fell, he worried they wouldn’t live to see the next morning. They had no supplies; no food, no torches, nothing, not even a decent chunk of firewood. Reynauld forced those worries down to the back of his mind, somewhere he wouldn’t have to dwell on them. Instead, he focused on the path ahead, pushing aside low-hanging branches of diseased and dying trees.

                “Up ahead,” Dismas called quietly, and Reynauld turned to face him. He gestured vaguely with his pistol. “Ahead, I think. A lot of footprints through this way.”

                “We’d best be ready, then,” Evie said quietly. “Just in case.”

                “Very well,” Reynauld agreed, drawing his blade. Better to err on the side of caution than to make a truly fatal mistake. He pushed aside a few brittle branches, the twigs snapping slightly under his touch. He did his best to be silent, but the crusades had left little opportunities for stealth, and he considered it to be a largely cowardly practice. The clanking of his armor was subtle, but it felt so much louder when contrasted with the need to be silent, and when it seemed to ring out from the confines of his helmet.

                A hand gently thumped against his shoulder, just light enough for Reynauld to feel it.

                “Just me,” Evie murmured from his left, peering through the bushes. There were three men standing in a small clearing, surrounding a chest of some sort. One was sharpening his blades with a whetstone, while the other cleaned a rifle or blunderbuss of some sort. But Reynauld’s focus quickly landed on the last man, and his wasn’t the only to do so.

                “He’s built like a fucking brick wall,” Dismas muttered from his right. Reynauld scoffed quietly, a wordless admonition for his foul language. Especially in the presence of a lady like—

                “I’ve seen brick shithouses that aren’t as big as him,” Evie whispered, and he sighed. Perhaps not so ladylike after all, then.

                “No way around them,” Reynauld said, already formulating a plan. The third man was massive, even larger than Reynauld. But he was backed by the skills of dozens of crusades, and hundreds of battles.

                “Dismas, take the man with the blades,” he said. “Evie, flank their shooter, try to deal with him before he has a chance to fire. I’ll take the large man and draw his attention, come to my aid once you’ve finished with the other two.”

                He supposed it was ironic, him encouraging Evie and Dismas to use a stealthier approach when just moments ago he’d been criticizing it. But he was too heavily armored to do much but attack head-on and provide a distraction, and his companions might as well put their velvet treads to use.

                “Remember what I said earlier,” Dismas said as Evie drew her stiletto. “Go for the vital areas. Try not to give him a chance to yell.”

                “You seem well-practiced in murder,” Reynauld said, ignoring how the other man stiffened.

                “Now’s not the time,” Dismas said gruffly. “Wait until these men are dead before you try to accuse me of anything.”

                “Enough.” Evie huffed, peering through the bushes again before slipping off to the side. Dismas shot Reynauld a glance he couldn’t quite place, following Evie without another word. Reynauld waited for what he assumed was close to a minute, giving the two what he hoped was ample time to get in position.

                “Light protect me.” He said quietly, before stepping out into the clearing with his sword at the ready. The three brigands turned to face him, jolting in shock before they seemed to register the fact that there was a man brandishing a sword right in front of them.

                All too soon, they reacted accordingly, readying their own weapons. Reynauld’s gaze was primarily focused on the larger brigand, who was brandishing a bloodied whip in his meaty hands, but he spared a tiny bit of concentration for the other two in case Evie and Dismas didn’t immediately have an opening.

                Dismas was the first to emerge from the bushes, materializing from the branches with an ease that made suspicion prickle through Reynauld’s mind in an ever-increasing manner. He forced himself to look away; he wasn’t sure if he could trust Dismas as a person, but he didn’t have to right now. All he needed to do now was trust in his ability as a fighter. Evie emerged from the bushes a few paces from Dismas, stiletto at the ready. And then Reynauld had to tear his gaze away, because the brigand’s largest member was bearing down on him with surprising speed.

                The massive brigand’s eyes focused on Reynauld with surprising intensity, and a ferocious bloodlust he’d seen too often. The man raised his arm, whip raised menacingly and ready to rain down on him. Its bloodstained tips pinged faintly against his armor, not bouncing off completely but doing much to blunt the impact. Reynauld’s sword glinted in the light of the setting sun as it swung in an almost wild motion. He’d never admit it, but he’d underestimated exactly how tall his opponent was. Height notwithstanding, the bandit’s lack of armor proved to be an advantage, and the tip of his blade cut through the man’s arm to leave a deep gnash behind. The blow would have been enough to topple most men, but most men weren’t nearly this large. Instead, the bandit stumbled backwards, letting out a pained yell and grabbing for something at his side.

                “I think you pissed him off, Crusader!” Dismas called. He was standing over the body of one of the bandits, Evie not too far from him. Reynauld glared at him through his helmet, about to shout something back, especially something along the lines of how he was simply standing there instead of helping.

                An explosion, almost deafening, rippled through the air, and a searing pain exploded in his stomach. It was agony, he thought, mouth opening in a scream even as he failed to make any sort of sound. It was like…like…

                …like he’d been shot.

                Blood seeped from the wound, his armor pierced by the point-blank shot.

                “Son of a bitch!” Evie exclaimed in shock, eyes focused on the massive pistol the brigand had produced. He could still hear her over the ringing in his ears, but not by much.

                “Sit tight, Crusader.” Dismas said even as Reynauld’s knees gave out from under him. Another gunshot cut through the air, and for a moment he was certain he had been the target.

                The massive brigand stopped dead in his tracks, swaying for a moment before collapsing to the ground with an unceremonious thud.

                “Damn. Missed his eyes.” The other man grunted after a moment. Reynauld’s eyes focused on the thin trail of smoke rising from the man’s flintlock, struggling to hold it in his focus as his vision flickered.

                Evie jogged over to where he was lying, her soft footsteps somehow reverberating through the ground and nestling somewhere beside his beating heart. She shrugged out of her overcoat, her hood falling away to reveal dark brown hair twisted messily into a thick braid. She let out a sigh, folding the thick fabric until it almost resembled a makeshift bandage.

                “Of all the times for me to have no bandages…Dismas, keep an eye out for me.”

~~~~~~~

                When Reynauld’s eyes opened again, his gunshot wound was tightly bandaged by Evie’s coat, and his arm were slung over the shoulders of his unlikely companions.

                “That armor’s seen some better days,” Dismas observed from his left. Reynauld couldn’t find the strength he needed to reply.

                “There’s a blacksmith in the Hamlet,” Evie said, sounding out of breath. Despite the fact that she looked like a stalwart survivor, carrying a grown man in armor on her shoulders was probably not something she was used to. They fell into silence again, the sound of footsteps and heavy breathing and dragging feet rustling through the dead grass around them. After what felt like forever, they reached the top of a large hill, and Reynauld found himself looking down on a cluster of dilapidated buildings with sickly-looking lights flickering in the windows.

                “That’s the Hamlet?” Dismas asked, and Evie nodded.

                “That’s it.” They were silent for a moment, and Reynauld got the impression that they were all looking for something to say.

                “Well…looks like the Crusader’s armor isn’t the only thing that’s seen better days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwback to that one brigand who got a random crit and put Reynauld on death's door before he even got to set eyes on the Hamlet.


	6. They Descend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Reynauld has an urge to pray, Dismas has regrets, and Evie has some choice words for the Caretaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks in the door*  
> Happy 2018, guys, I'm still alive!

                The Hamlet seemed at least slightly better when Evie returned. It was by no means a large improvement, but there were more lights in the windows and two or three people in the streets. They shot wary, surprised glances at her makeshift party, scattering out of their way. Considering she and Dismas still had Reynauld balanced between the two of them, she couldn’t say she blamed the citizens of the Hamlet.

                “How much further?” Dismas grunted. “I’m thinking about just letting him sleep this off at the tavern.”

                “While you get yourself a drink?” Evie asked.

                “You know me so well.” Evie snorted; they’d met in a tavern, yes, but she’d mostly been joking.

                “When people try to sleep off a wound like this, they don’t always make it through the night. The Sanitarium would probably best…”

                Even suggesting that place made the hairs on the back of her neck prickle; it was a necessary service, but it was by no means a pleasant one.

                “No.” Reynauld grunted, struggling to stand. “Not the Sanitarium. It’s the Abbot I need.”

                “You’re joking,” Dismas deadpanned. “You’ve been _shot_ , Crusader, it’s going to take more than some holy water to fix—”

                “If I were going to die, I would have done so by now,” Reynauld argued. “I’ve seen the Light’s vestals bring men back from the brink of death.”

                “The Hamlet seemed almost deserted when I got here, Reynauld,” Evie said. “What if there isn’t a vestal to be found?”

                “There will be. I must have faith.”

                “You ‘must’?” Dismas echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “Don’t twist my words, _highwayman_.” Reynauld spat. Dismas said nothing, although his shoulders seemed to tense almost painfully. His eyes narrowed, fixating solely on the path ahead of them.

“The Abbey it is.” He said abruptly, walking forward with newfound energy. Evie shot him a quick look, part confused and part worried, but the man refused to make eye contact as they changed direction in the middle of the empty street.

~~~~~~~

                The Abbey was dark, and it smelled of dust and decay. The windows had been boarded up, though some small tendrils of moonlight crept into the room from cracks in the wood. Dust hung suspended in the beams of light, a moment of ruin and neglect frozen in time.

                A match was struck, and Evie jumped in surprise as a candelabra weakly flared to life. A monk’s face was suddenly illuminated by the yellowish light. Black robes hung loosely from his body, and he held a well-worn holy book securely against his chest. The chain around his neck, bearing the symbol of the Light, was tarnished with age. Even so, it caught the light from the candles and cast back what was almost an impossibly-bright reflection.

                “Abbot,” Evie began after a moment, when no one else deigned to break the silence. “Our companion is hurt, he insisted on coming here. Is there anything you can do?”

                “Of course, of course!” The man said, seeming to almost come alive. He ushered them to a quiet corner of the church, where a threadbare cot was spread haphazardly over the floor.

                “Set him down here, gently now,” he said, reaching out for the air in front of Reynauld as if the motion would somehow lessen some of his weight. It did nothing to take some of the burden off Evie’s arms, and she doubted Dismas was feeling any differently. “A vestal arrived not too long ago on unrelated business, I’ll wake her.”

                “…That might be the first spot of good luck we’ve had since we started this trip.” Dismas muttered. He shuffled for a moment, as if deliberating over some course of action or another, before walking back towards the door.

                “Dismas? Where are you going?” Evie called.

                “To get a drink.” Came the response. The abbey’s door slammed shut before Evie could respond.

                “Brilliant.” She sighed. She knelt down beside Reynauld, her brow creasing. “Do you want me to stay?” They were still almost strangers, she’d understand if he’d find it better if she left. But at least by asking, Reynauld would have a say in the matter.

                “I will be in good hands here. And it would be good to pray after I’ve recovered.” His head tilted in the direction of the doors. “But I’m thankful you asked.”

                “Of course, Reynauld,” Evie said. “Let me know if you need anything, but otherwise I’ll leave you alone.” She eased back up onto her feet, a joint or two quietly popping.

                “Do you trust him?”

                “I’m sorry?”

                “The highwayman. Dismas. Do you trust him?” Reynauld repeated. Evie frowned, turning to face him.

                “He saved my life. Both our lives,” she said quietly.

                “One good deed does not absolve a man of his sins,” Reynauld said. “I know this type of man. A thief without honor, someone who’s turned his back on the Light.”

                “What’s your point?”

                “He may have saved us in the woods, but can you trust him to keep his word? What if he abandons—”

                “He hasn’t done anything that suggests I _shouldn’t_ trust him,” Evie said. “Maybe one good deed can’t redeem someone for whatever they’ve done. But it can be a start.”

                “What makes you so sure?” Reynauld asked. Evie glanced away, fingers seeming to reach for the hood she no longer had.

                “It has to be.” She whispered. “There has to be a way to atone for the mistakes you’ve made.”

~~~~~~~

                The tavern in the Hamlet was nothing like the one in the town Evie had plucked him from. This tavern was silent, almost forsaken, with dust on half the tables and a lone man tending the bar.

                “I’ve seen happier men at the gallows,” he said. The bartender shot him an annoyed glare, his hand continuing to wipe down the bar.

                “You must be one of the fools Evie brought back,” he said. “Do you want a drink?”

                “Something that’ll burn my throat,” he replied. Reynauld’s biting words had affected him more than he was willing to admit.

                What had really affected him was the fact that he was _right_. That he had every right to brand him thus—highwayman, brigand, _murderer…_

                The tankard was set down in front of him, and he picked it up and brought it to his lips without much thought. The stuff was _bitter_ ; he got the idea this was how Evie was familiar with Northern brews. But pissing off the man serving you drinks was never the best idea, so he swallowed his comments down with the brew.

                “Dismas?” Came a quiet voice, and he fought the urge to jump from his barstool.

                “Evie.” He replied. He kept his gaze focused on the wall behind the bartender, on the tankard in front of him, anywhere but the heiress’ face.

                He’d heard what Reynauld had said; his hearing was honed from years of listening down the road, and even the quietest voice could echo through an empty abbey. If he were in Evie’s shoes, he probably wouldn’t trust him, either.

                “I know what you’re going to say,” he began, catching a glimpse of her confused expression. “I heard the Crusader asking if you could trust me. I—”

                “Did you happen to hear my answer?” Evie cut in. Now it was Dismas’ turn to have a confused look on his face.

                “…Not really, no.”

                “Then I guess you don’t really know what I’m going to say, huh?” Evie fell silent for a moment, her brown eyes somehow asking questions of their own.

                “He called you ‘highwayman’,” she said at last. There was no one to really overhear them in the tavern, but he appreciated that she kept her voice down all the same.

                “He’s right. Or he would have been right,” Dismas said quietly. His gloved hands fiddled with the empty tankard in front of him. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Things I’d take back if I could. But I don’t do those things anymore. I’m out.”

                “…What happened?” Evie probed. He was hoping she wouldn’t ask. He wasn’t ready. He never would be.

                “I made a mistake.” He said simply. Evie said nothing, eyes looking him up and down, before she nodded.

                “All right,” she murmured. “Thank you for telling me. Even if it was just a small bit.”

                “You hired me. I might as well let you know what you’re dealing with.” Dismas shrugged, looking away again. He considered asking the barman for a refill, wondered if the bitter, watered-down beer was worth it in the end.

                The quiet sound of glass thudding against a wooden counter caught his attention, and he turned to see that Evie had set a bottle of brandy down next to him.

                “Thanks for recommending this, it’s so good I bought another the morning we left.” She said.

                “You don’t have to—”

                “Take it,” Evie said, pushing the bottle towards him. “You need it more than I do.”

~~~~~~~

                It was a relief to have a sister of the Light by his side again.

                As the Abbot had said, there was a vestal visiting the Hamlet. She’d introduced herself as Falaise, and had proven to be quite adept at channeling the Light’s blessings into healing others. The feeling of his flesh knitting itself back together was strange, but not unwelcome.

                “Thank you, sister,” he said, gingerly sitting up and testing the area. Aside from some faint scarring, the skin seemed good as new. “What brings you here?”

                “There have been whispers. Of darkness and evil and twisted incantations,” Falaise replied. “When I heard of it, I knew it was my duty to investigate. To find some way to drive out the darkness festering in this land.”

                “A worthy goal,” Reynauld nodded. “I came here for a similar purpose. A young woman inherited this land, and has asked for my aid in cleansing it.”

                “I thought the Luxdeep family was all but gone.”

                “What do you mean?” Reynauld asked. It wasn’t that he doubted Evie’s story; she didn’t have much to gain by lying about who she was. But she’d been surprisingly quiet when it came to her family. What had they done to twist this land into what it had become?

                “Other members of the family came to cleanse this place, to take back their estate. A few of them lived in my home city and set off for this place. They never returned.”

                A chill ran down Reynauld’s spine, and he suppressed a shudder. Had this place truly taken so many lives? Evie had said it would be dangerous, but this managed to surprise him all the same.

                “To hear her tell it, she left home several years before the…incident.” Reynauld wasn’t sure exactly what had started the Hamlet’s degeneration, and Evie hadn’t sounded too certain herself. But something had to have occurred, something that pushed the Hamlet over the edge. “How she got word of this place, I know not. But if so many before us have tried and failed, it makes it that much more important that we drive the shadows back.”

                “And I agree,” Falaise said, bristling. “It was not my intention to suggest otherwise, I even wish to offer your employer my aid as well. But I worry all the same.”

                “For her?”

                “For her, for you, for everyone involved. I fear there’s a curse upon the Luxdeep name. And if we fail to drive it back…it may consume us all.”

                Reynauld and Falaise fell silent, the burden of these thoughts resting on their shoulders like a physical weight. He took a deep breath, letting his armored hand gently rest on her shoulder.

                “We must have faith. Come, let us pray. I would like to ask the Light for guidance in the times ahead.” Falaise nodded, a smile slowly spreading across her face, and the fabric of her robes rustled softly as she rose to her feet.

                “Will you recite the Verses, or shall I?” She picked up a thick book from the floor, well-worn and well cared for. Numerous ribbons marked different pages.

                “Please,” Reynauld invited, gesturing for her to begin. “It has been too long since I’ve been blessed to listen to the Verses.”

                Falaise gingerly opened the prayer book, thumbing through pages until she settled on what she was evidently searching for. Her warm voice rang gently throughout the Abbey. As she read, the flickering candles inside seemed to grow just the tiniest bit brighter.

~~~~~~~

                With Reynauld in the Abbey and Dismas in the tavern, Evie was finding herself at a loss. Part of her thought she ought to knock on some of the other doors, scope out the aid Fitz said he’d be able to find. Another part of her wanted to collapse in a bed and sleep through the rest of this miserable week.

                Both sides fell silent as a familiar figure appeared in the corner of her eyes. She wasn’t sure if she should be relieved the Caretaker had survived the carriage wreck, or furious that he’d left them behind.

                “Caretaker!” She exclaimed through gritted teeth. She stalked towards him, although the constant squelching of mud under her boots did little to help with how intimidating she was trying to appear.

                “Lady Evelyn! I knew you would return safely!”

                “Like _hell_ you did, y—” she forced herself to stop short, shoving the rest of her angry words deep down where she’d deal with them later. Taking in a deep breath and pinching the bridge of her nose, Evie counted a few heartbeats before speaking again.

                “Why didn’t you return for us? There are brigands all over the Old Road, Reynauld was shot.”

                “With all possible respect, my lady,” The Caretaker said. “If your mercenaries cannot handle brigands, they will have even more trouble from here on out.” Before Evie could respond, he pressed an old book into her hands.

                “Your late grandfather left this behind. He took to recording some of the larger threats on the estate.” He nodded towards a ramshackle building behind the both of them. “I left some of his other belongings inside the old inn. There are private chambers for yourself, as well as barracks for those you bring here. I stumbled across another fool for the fire, she is resting inside.”

                The Caretaker was almost eerily calm. Especially, Evie thought, when compared to his behavior when she’d first arrived. But the calmness was a blessing all the same, and she was reluctant to question it in case she found an answer she didn’t want.

                “Thank you, Caretaker.” She said, holding her grandfather’s journal close to her chest. She was more than a little angry that he’d left them in the woods, but at least he’d been busy during his time here. She wasn’t sure how she’d feel if she returned to find that he’d simply been twiddling his thumbs and waiting on a possibility that she _might_ return.

                “My lady,” the old man bowed low to the ground, and Evie awkwardly nodded her thanks before shuffling towards the makeshift barracks. The necessary pleasantries of noble society had been stuffy when she was a child, but after spending so long without them, they seemed almost ridiculous.

                “Okay, grandfather…” She said to herself, brushing a few bits of grime from the book. “Let’s see just what you’ve done…”

                “You must be Lady Evelyn,” A voice said from behind her. Evie jumped, fumbling to keep from dropping the journal. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but the sight of a bird-like mask was not one of them.

                “Fucking--! I…Evie is fine,” she sighed and pressed a hand over her heart. The glass lenses of the plague doctor’s mask gleamed blankly, and yet somehow they managed to look right through her. It left her feeling transparent, and more than a little unsettled.

                “Please, call me Evie,” she tried again. “And you are?”

                “Digby,” came the other woman’s response, and she offered a hand in greeting.

                “That’s…an interesting name,” Evie said, unable to stop herself. Digby merely shrugged, shaking her hand.

                “While my mother was pregnant, the midwife was convinced I would be a boy. Things obviously didn’t work out that way, but it was the only name she’d picked out.” The doctor’s head cocked to the side her mask’s lenses catching the dim light in an eerie reflection.

                “This is your estate, then? I was told you were here to reclaim it.”

                “I…yes. I am,” Evie said. “Are you asking if you can help?”

                “I’m a doctor. I can handle matters of life. And death, too; whatever the situation calls for.” The answer wasn’t quite what Evie had been looking for, but judging from Digby’s presence here at all, she supposed it was safe to guess that she was here to help.

                “All right. I have two other companions here, Reynauld and Dismas. Reynauld is recovering from a gunshot wound, but we should rest up.” Evie said. “As soon as he’s recovered, and I’ve had a chance to look through this…” her fingers drummed on the journal’s spine.

                “We’ll be off?” Digby asked. She sounded almost _excited_.

                “Yes.” Evie nodded. “We’ll go down to the ruins. Just a quick exploration; I want to figure out what we’re dealing with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a lot of writers tend to use the default names for some of the characters, but I've grown very attached to Falaise and Digby; those were the names of the vestal and plague doctor in my very first game of Darkest Dungeon, and the names just kinda stuck.


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